<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Inexorable by Lauralot</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386753">Inexorable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot'>Lauralot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captivity, Exhaustion, Force-Feeding, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Hypnotism, I accidentally wrote hypnosis kink without meaning to, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Manipulation, Starvation, tangentially at least</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:22:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"It should be no great effort for you to resist me.  Would you like to play?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Inexorable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was never this hungry before the metal arm.</p><p>It’s been years now since Bucky got to flip through the pulp magazines at the newsstands, but he’s pretty sure the robots in <i>Amazing Stories</i> never needed to eat.  And while he may not be a real robot—though every night that he doesn’t dream of falling, his skin strips off like apple peel to reveal they’ve made him entirely metal after all—he’d have thought that losing a limb would decrease the need for sustenance, not double it.</p><p>But when he came to with half a ton of steel welded onto his shoulder, well, the pain hit him first, knocking the wind out of him, but once he looked past the burn in his chest, there was a fire equally strong in his stomach.  He was ravenous before he even remembered himself enough to be terrified.  And in the months—years?—since he woke up on that hospital bed, the fear’s given way to anger.  He’s becoming numb to the pain.  But the hunger, that only grows.</p><p>Maybe HYDRA’s just bad at making machines.  Maybe the ache in his gut is intentional; keep him from running through fear of starvation.  Bucky doesn’t know.  All he does know is that he’s tried to escape enough times to recognize futility, so for the past two weeks he hasn’t let the slop they call food pass his lips.  HYDRA wants a weapon.  He’ll give them a corpse.</p><p>The arm stopped working three days ago, hanging limp and heavier than ever at his side.   Last night he dreamed it just ripped off, hitting the ground hard enough to crack the cold stone.  Bucky had stared down at it, oil dripping from the socket instead of blood.  He’d still felt the weight of it, even detached.</p><p>The hell of it is, Bucky’s pretty sure he could have gotten away from the orderlies who hauled him out of his cell this morning if the damn thing still worked.  Sure, he’s lightheaded and emaciated, but it’s not like that ever stopped Steve.  Except Steve never had heavy metal grafted into his skeleton like Bucky does, and try as he might, Bucky’s never quite matched Steve’s reckless self-abandon.</p><p>So now he’s been dragged to some procedure room, strapped to a chair at the legs, arms, and head.  The bonds are tight enough that all he feels are pins and needles in his hand and feet.  He can smell the swill they’ve been feeding him, though he can’t turn his head to see where it’s placed.  Bucky doubts they’re planning to gently coax a spoon in his mouth the way he’d watched his ma feed his baby sisters.</p><p>However they plan to force feed him, for now Bucky’s alone.  The orderlies left as soon as they’d tied him down.  Maybe they’re jerry-rigging something to force his mouth open.  Maybe they just want to scare him.  For all the time they spend trying to break him down, nobody seems to grasp that Bucky’s beyond fear.  Beyond most sensations, these days, except that constant, gnawing ache and his ever present hopelessness.</p><p>It’s almost a relief, being brought here.  Bucky knew from the instant he first shoved his plate away that they’d force him to eat.  He just didn’t know how or when.  Now he doesn’t have to wonder.  He doesn’t have to keep up another useless fight.</p><p>A man walks into his line of sight.  A doctor, from his coat.  He’s taller than Zola but around the same age.  His fingers are intertwined, hands held up at his chest.  “Hello, Sergeant Barnes.”  Soft voice.  Russian.</p><p>Bucky isn’t stupid enough to open his mouth.</p><p>“We have not had the pleasure,” the doctor continues, “although I have heard much about you.  Most recently, your refusal to eat.  Johann,” he adds.  Casual, as if he’s talking to an acquaintance and not a prisoner.  “Johann Fennhoff.”</p><p>Bucky only stares, expectant.</p><p>“I know my colleagues have been…less than gentle.”  There’s a ring on Fennhoff’s left hand, maybe a wedding band, and he twists at it absently as he speaks.  “I have no desire to cause you harm, Sergeant Barnes.  Your comfort is paramount to me.”</p><p>It’s a struggle not to laugh at that.  Bucky meets the doctor’s eyes, waiting for the inevitable.</p><p>“I am a hypnotist,” Fennhoff says.  “You are familiar with the term?”</p><p>Bucky does laugh at that, albeit through clenched teeth.  A hypnotist.  There’d been one at the World’s Fair when he was twenty, swinging a pocket watch and making people act like chickens and dogs.  “It’s not magic,” Bucky had said to his date.  “I’ve read about it.  People let themselves get fooled ‘cause they want to believe.”</p><p>The power of suggestion.  That’s what the books had called it.  And now HYDRA was so desperate they were turning to carnie tricks?  Bucky hadn’t realized he’d vexed them that much.  He feels accomplished, satisfied, if only for a moment.</p><p>Fennhoff smiles.  “You are familiar.  I will be frank, Sergeant.  We have the means to force you to eat.  Yet it is my desire that you not suffer unnecessarily.  So I would like to offer you a choice.  A challenge, if you will.”</p><p>A choice.  Bucky rolls his eyes, then sets his jaw in anticipation of a retaliatory blow that never comes.  He has no choice.  They both know it, so Fennhoff could at least do him the courtesy of getting to the point.</p><p>“You have successfully resisted every attempt by my colleagues to bend your will.”  He keeps turning the ring on his finger.  “So it should be no great effort for you to resist me.  To stay awake.  If you are the victor, I will personally unbind you and return you to your room.  But if I win, you will give up this fruitless struggle, and you will eat.  Would you like to play?”</p><p>As if they’d let him starve.  One way or another, they’re going to shove gruel down his throat.  But if they think he’s mesmerized, Bucky might not end up with tubing forced into his stomach.  Maybe they’ll undo the straps that much sooner; the restricted circulation is really starting to hurt now.  He might be able to make a break for it or at least bite whoever tries to feed him.  He remembers the blank faces of the volunteers at the World’s Fair.  He can imitate that easily.</p><p>As best he can with his head held in place, Bucky nods.</p><p>“Thank you, Sergeant, for humoring me.”  Fennhoff’s still playing with the ring.  Bucky resolves to bite it off if the doctor’s the one stupid enough to get near his mouth.  “Now, before we begin, we must agree upon the rules of the game.  I am here for your wellbeing, you realize.  No one else will be so patient and gentle with you.  And I will throw you back to their mercy if you cheat.  With that in mind, there is only one rule: you must listen.  You must follow every instruction I give.  Your challenge is to stay awake.  I will not order you to sleep.  Do you understand?”</p><p>He sounds so earnest, so believing in his own snake oil that Bucky might pity him if he weren’t a loyal member of the knock-off Nazis.  As it is, Bucky just nods again, impatiently.  His wrist and ankles ache and he wonders how long his extremities can go without blood before the damage is irreparable.</p><p>“Thank you,” Fennhoff says again.  “Look at my hands, Sergeant Barnes.”</p><p>He already is.  Fennhoff keeps moving the damn things, and Bucky’s seen enough adventure serials to know better than to look a hypnotist in the eyes.</p><p>“I need your complete focus.  Do I have that?”</p><p>Bucky lets out a terse breath through his teeth.  What the hell else would he be focused on?  Is the idea to bore him unconscious?  All it’s accomplishing is pissing him off.</p><p>“You don’t have to see my hands.  I only want you to stare at that space.  Just focus your eyes so they do not distract you as you listen.  Whatever you want to see, you can.  Whatever brings you comfort.  Whatever helps you resist me.”</p><p>Every comfort Bucky’s had lately has been memories of food, popping unbidden into his mind as if they can actually nourish him.  His mother’s roast, the scents drifting from the bakery on the way to the docks in the morning, Steve wiping juice from his chin as he bit into an apple.  But all he can see is the light glinting off Fennhoff’s ring.  And he’s not going to imagine anything anyway; he’s just going to play along until enough time has passed to make it seem like he’s putting in an honest effort.</p><p>“Just keep your eyes open.  As proof I haven’t won.  Good.”</p><p>Bucky wonders what the point of this is.  HYDRA can’t actually be desperate enough to resort to parlor tricks, not when they must have dozens of ways to torture him still untested.  Have they become as bored trying to break him as he’s been waiting to break?</p><p>“Relax your shoulders,” Fennhoff says, and Bucky tenses them instead.  It’s become reflex to do the opposite of what he’s told.  Steve would probably approve.  He braces himself again to be struck, but Fennhoff just softly laughs.</p><p>“It’s not a trick, Sergeant Barnes.  I know you’re cleverer than that.  You only need to keep your eyes open.  The rest of your body can relax.  It has to be heavy, carrying all that steel.”</p><p>The arm <i>is</i> heavy, especially since it’s failed and become entirely dead weight.  Reluctantly, Bucky loosens his shoulders, half-expecting the arm of the chair to bend under the prosthetic as he does.  The strap around his right wrist feels slightly more bearable once his shoulders sag, so he lets his legs go slack as well.  It’s not like he can make a break for it with no sensation in his extremities anyway.</p><p>“Good.  It’s easier to focus, isn’t it, when your body isn’t fighting?  There’s no need to fight.  You’re much stronger than I am, even in this state.  We both know that.  You hold the power here.  All you must do is listen, while I expend all the effort.”</p><p>Bucky stares at the ring, still twisting back and forth.  The increased flow of blood to his hand and feet has brought back that pins and needles feeling in full force.  It’s miserable, and all the more so because he can’t move.  He tries to go slacker still, tries not to feel it.</p><p>“Good,” Fennhoff says again.  “That’s good.  You see?  There’s nothing to fear.  You’re obeying as you promised, you’re following the rules, and you’re still awake.  For now.”</p><p>The ring glints in the light again, and that’s the only thing that keeps Bucky from looking up and rolling his eyes.  Aren’t hypnotists supposed to be subtle?  He sounds like the villain on some radio program, obvious enough that even the littlest kid listening knows who’s supposed to be the bad guy.</p><p>“You <i>will</i> fall asleep.  But not yet.”  His voice is soft, and he speaks like it’s a fact, not a command.  “Just focus.  Keep staring.  That’s all you need do.  Let your mind relax.  Let your body relax.  Yes, just like that.  You’re doing well.”</p><p>The light dances off the ring.  It’s like staring into a candle; it even seems to leave an afterimage.  Maybe because he can’t move his head.  Or maybe because his body’s only running on the memory of food at this point.</p><p>“Let’s make the game more challenging,” Fennhoff says.  “It’s not hard for you at all, is it?  Just staring, just breathing.  I’m going to count from ten to one.”</p><p>When Bucky was eight, a nurse had held a mask over his face and a doctor told him to speak through it, counting back from ten.  He remembers gasping, suffocating, and then waking up having only reached seven, trying to finish but unable to speak around the searing pain where his tonsils had been.  He tenses now, and all the weight of the metal is back.</p><p>“It’s all right, Sergeant Barnes.”  The light swims before his eyes, brightening and dimming.  Brightening and dimming.  “You will keep your eyes open.  I will not tell you to close them.  I will not tell you to sleep.  You’re still resisting.  You’re awake.  You’ll stay awake, so it’s fine to listen.  You’ll relax more with each number.  It’s all right.  It’s pleasant.  Ten, and you feel my voice sink <i>deep</i> through you.”</p><p>Bucky lets out the breath he’d been holding and takes another in.  It’s not like the ether when he was a kid.  It doesn’t feel like he’s choking.  Of course it doesn’t.  It’s just air.</p><p>“Nine, and you’re safe, you’re calm and awake.  Eight, your body is sinking down, more relaxed than ever.”</p><p>He’s gone limp again; the bite of the straps when he tensed up is too much to bear now that he’s realized he can avoid it.  His body is heavy, but it doesn’t hurt when he sinks back like this.  For once, the prosthetic doesn’t feel like it’s dragging the rest of him down.</p><p>“Seven, focused but calm, a smile tugging at your mouth because this is easy.   Six, enjoying the game, feeling me tug on your consciousness.  Five, you’re blinking with every number, the pull is stronger and stronger.”</p><p>He <i>is</i> blinking, and it occurs to Bucky that he could easily pass out here without meaning to.  He’s not tired, really; he’s been sleeping more than ever to avoid the pain in his stomach when he’s awake, but consciousness requires energy, and that’s been in short supply since he stopped eating.  Fainting from hunger before they can force anything into his throat would probably be better than suffering through it awake, but Bucky can remember the first prison camp before Steve showed up to save him.</p><p>There was a cell near his, before they’d brought him to Zola’s lab, and one of the men in it had refused to eat.  He’d been force-fed and every night since he had the most hideous, wet cough.  It left him gasping for air and everyone else unable to sleep.  Bucky was never sure if the guy had caught the pneumonia going around the camp or if they’d dumped food in his lungs by mistake.  Whatever it was, it killed him.</p><p>Bucky doesn’t want to die like that.  He can’t risk actually sleeping.  He blinks, slow and long, trying to look like he’s losing.</p><p>“Four, sinking deeper, pulling stronger.  Three, eyes open.  Two, more focused that you’ve ever felt, but it’s not difficult.  You’re enjoying yourself, enjoying the game …”</p><p>And this is where he’ll snap his fingers and yell <i>sleep.</i>  Bucky remembers that from the World’s Fair show.  His eyes are wide, watering, and Bucky knows he should close them and let Fennhoff think he’s won, but his body’s so heavy and he’s worried if he shuts his eyes now, the suggestion will be too strong and he won’t open them again.</p><p>Not yet.  Soon.  But not yet. </p><p>“One,” Fennhoff says.  “And you expect me to tell you to <i>sleep</i>, to <i>drop</i> down too deep to keep your eyes open, but no, you’re awake, aren’t you?  I’m glad you’re awake, James.  The longer you struggle, the more interesting our game is.”</p><p>He blinks and his vision blurs, tears dampening his lashes.  He blinks again.  A third time.</p><p>“It’s all you can focus on, staying awake.”  Fennhoff’s voice is almost a whisper, as if Bucky’s already under and he’s trying not to rouse him.  “Your mind, your entire being is narrowed to this task and you’re still failing, slipping away a little more with each passing second.  With each breath you take, the world grows slightly dimmer.  Little by little, you’re just…drifting away.”</p><p>Bucky bites his lip.  His eyes are still watering, vision doubled, and he blinks again and again until it clears.</p><p>“But that’s all right,” Fennhoff continues.  “Because you can still listen.   And that’s the point of the game, to listen.  So settle back and follow my voice, deeper and deeper.  Your eyes flutter, but you’re with me.  You stay with me, stay focused.”</p><p>The light is still dancing off the ring even though his eyes are dry now.  Bucky tries to bite down on his lip again, but it’s slipped from between his teeth and if he makes the effort to fix that, his concentration may waver long enough to close his eyes.</p><p>“Your mind is blank.  Empty and obedient.  You have no focus but the challenge.”</p><p>But hadn’t he planned to close his eyes?</p><p>“And that gets harder and harder as you drift deeper and deeper.  Your eyes are heavy.  They want to close.  And when they close, you lose, don’t you?”</p><p>No, the doctor wants him to close his eyes.  So he won’t.  Why would he plan to do what HYDRA wants?</p><p>“But will you truly lose, James?” Fennhoff asks.  The ring goes around and around.  Around and around.  “Your resistance is melting away.  You must have known when we began that you were too tired to win, yet you agreed.  Because you want to surrender, don’t you?  You crave the relief of subjugation.”</p><p><i>No</i>, Bucky thinks, nearly says, but his mouth is open and it shouldn’t be open.  They brought him here to feed him.  He can’t let that happen.  His body’s heavier by the second and it takes all the energy he has to shut his mouth.</p><p>“You want to be conquered.  But you feel you shouldn’t want it, so you resist until someone can strip away your every defense.  That’s why you agreed to the game.  Because you <i>want</i> to be taken.  You’re so tired of fighting, but you can’t surrender.  And now you don’t have to.  Because I am here, dismantling your defenses, and I deserve it.  I will take the victory you’ve longed for someone to earn.” </p><p>The hell of it is, he’s right.  Hadn’t Bucky thought that, when they brought him in here?  That he didn’t have to continue another pointless fight?  And this one is just as pointless.  And he doesn’t have to struggle.</p><p>“It won’t be an easy victory.”  Fennhoff’s voice is all around him, caressing him, pulling him further under.  “But <i>when</i> it comes, you won’t have lost, James.  You’ve won submission, and the harder the fight, the sweeter it tastes.”</p><p>Steve.  Steve would struggle.  Bucky forces his eyes wider, trying not to see the ring turning.</p><p>“You can keep fighting for now.  I’ll put in the effort you know you deserve.  That’s the real challenge: for me to take you, not for you to resist.”</p><p>He doesn’t see the ring or the hand beneath it, vision swimming more than ever.  But he sees the light, glinting and moving.</p><p>“You’re so tired.  You’re down so deep, there’s nothing but the spot where you’re staring.  That spot, and my voice.  Your eyes are so heavy, so hot.  And if I count again, it will be all but impossible to keep them open.”</p><p>Bucky tries to bite his lip.  He misses, feeling the faint clink of his teeth against each other.  There’s nothing left of him but that sound, his weight, and the heat in his eyes.</p><p>“Ten,” Fennhoff says.  He mutters “oh” afterward sheepishly, as if he didn’t mean to start counting, but Bucky can hear his smile.</p><p>“Nine, your mind is empty, there’s nothing but my voice.”</p><p>The light is still there, with only a void around it.  Bucky tries to move his eyes, remember his surroundings, but they’re frozen in place.</p><p>“Eight, you’ve never been so tired.”</p><p>The light fractures, splintering over and over like a kaleidoscope.</p><p>“Seven, you’re weightless, you’re drifting.”</p><p>And he is.  The chair is gone, the straps are gone, even the awareness of his body is gone.  There’s no mooring, no orientation, just the light and the doctor’s voice.</p><p>“Six, you’re blinking so much.  Five, you want to give in.  Four, you want it so badly you can almost taste it.”</p><p>The light brightens and dims and Bucky tries to move toward it, but he has no momentum.  He’s drifting, powerless to steer himself.  The light and the voice keep him tethered.  Beyond that, there’s nothing.</p><p>“Three, you’re concentrating so hard you’ve forgotten the purpose of the game.”</p><p>Bucky’s sinking and floating at once.  He stares at the light, strains, tries to draw himself to it.</p><p>“One, the purpose is to go as deep as you can.  To let me guide you down, down, down deeper…”</p><p>The light merges back into a single beam.  It’s reflecting off of something.</p><p>“And you’re so deep you’ve lost yourself.  Lost your thoughts, lost your body.  But your eyes are still open.  You still resist.  Do you believe you can win?  Or have you accepted that submission is—”</p><p><i>Inexorable,</i> Bucky thinks, and as he thinks, he speaks.  The word is slurred, distant, as if he’s speaking into water.</p><p>Inexorable.  It was Rebecca’s favorite word once, sometime after his sister had read <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> and become briefly obsessed with the romance of words and of places and just ideas.  Inexorable, so much more exotic than unstoppable or inescapable, so much more dramatic.</p><p>Rebecca.  How can he think of her when he can barely think at all?  Is she here?</p><p>The voice laughs softly.  “Inexorable.  That’s right, that’s good.  Inexorable, you know that it is, but you can’t give in, can you?  Defiant until the end, until I reach deep inside you and draw out the last spark of your resistance.  Until you <i>see</i> me drink it down and <i>feel</i> the light smothered in my throat.”</p><p>Metal.  Behind the light is metal.</p><p>“You’re drifting, James.  Back and forth, back and forth.  And every time you go back, it feels so good, like sinking into a bath.  And every time you come up, your eyes want to close that much more.  Back and forth, deeper and deeper.”</p><p>Metal.  It can’t be his arm; it’s too far away.</p><p>“You’re tired.  You want to hide it, you don’t want me know that you’re exhausted.  But I know, James.  I know what you need, and I know what you want me to take from you.  And I know how good it will feel, how safe and soothed and embraced you will be, when you just…let…go…”</p><p>The light is fading, his eyes rolling and fluttering.  But he can’t shut them.  Not until he figures out what he’s seeing.</p><p>“You can feel it, like steam rising from the water.  Your resistance is fading away.  It’s all right.  It’s kept you safe, but you don’t need it anymore.  You can let go, I’m here with you.”</p><p><i>Who are you?</i> Bucky thinks.  His mouth won’t form the words.  He’s beyond language, beyond the memory of who’s speaking and why.  There’s just the light, the metal, the struggle to stay coherent long enough to figure out what it means.</p><p>“Let’s count,” the voice says, “one more time.”</p><p>“Ten, you’re scattering like ashes.”</p><p>The metal flashes the light again.</p><p>“Nine, you’re already dreaming, all that’s left is to close your eyes.”</p><p>It’s a fork.  It’s a fork poised over a plate, reflecting the light above.</p><p>“Seven, let yourself fall, I will catch you.”</p><p>There’s a hand holding the fork, and a bracelet on the wrist above it.  The bracelet also reflects the light, and Bucky wonders why he hadn’t seen it before.  He knows the bracelet.  He was there when his father bought it, and he’d helped keep watch for his mother as his father put it in wrapping paper and slid it under the tree.</p><p><i>Ma,</i> Bucky thinks.  He reaches out, only succeeding in pushing himself farther down.</p><p>“Five, your purpose is to obey, it feels so wonderful to obey.”</p><p>Another hand, small and warm, closes tight around his wrist, anchoring him in place.</p><p>“Four, you can’t remember why you ever tried to fight the inexorable.”</p><p>It still feels like he’s sinking, but the world sinks with him, no longer drifting farther away.</p><p>“One, your eyes are closed.”</p><p>And they are.</p><p>Bucky hovers like that for what feels like eternity, each second longer and more blissful than the one before.  It isn’t until the voice returns that he thinks to open his eyes, that he even remembers they were shut.</p><p>“James.”</p><p>Bucky opens his eyes.  It’s Steve’s hand on his wrist, scrawny and pale with his knuckles scraped up from another stupid fight that Bucky wasn’t around to stop.  Steve’s sitting at the table in the Barnes’s kitchen, in the spot Bucky usually occupies.</p><p>That’s right.  Because his dad’s out of town and Ma had invited Steve for dinner, and Bucky’s in his father’s usual seat.</p><p>His sisters are there and his mother’s across the table, fork in one hand and knife in the other.  They all stare at him expectantly.</p><p>“James,” Steve repeats.</p><p>“Bucky,” he answers, vaguely confused but too warm and relaxed and just <i>peaceful</i> to question it.  “Bucky, Steve.  Since when do you call me James?”</p><p>Steve smiles, letting go.  For a second, Bucky grips the table, afraid of drifting away, but the chair’s solid underneath him, and the floor solid under that.  It’s a ridiculous thing to worry about, so Bucky lets it float out of his mind.  There’s a flood of sensation through his hand now, as if Steve were cutting off the circulation to it.</p><p>“Bucky,” Steve says.  “You love this feeling, don’t you?  You love letting go.”</p><p>“Yeah?”  It’s a weird question.  Bucky isn’t sure what prompted it.  But they’re all here and it’s warm and his mom’s roast is carved up in the middle of the table looking like a centerpiece on the cover of <i>The Saturday Evening Post</i>.  And he’s starving.  How could he not feel that before?  He’s <i>famished.</i></p><p>“Good.”  Steve smiles.  “I’ve got you, Bucky.  I’ve got you completely. You put up such a good fight, and now I’ll look after you.”</p><p>At the end of the table, Ma is distributing slices of meat on the plates, then passing them to his sisters.</p><p>“Bucky?” Steve asks.  “What’s your purpose?”</p><p>Bucky doesn’t have to think; the words well up from deep inside him.  “To obey.”</p><p>Steve takes a plate from Rebecca, setting it down in front of Bucky.  “And who do you obey?”</p><p>“You.”  Bucky picks up his fork, mouth watering.</p><p>“And how do you obey?”</p><p>“Completely.”</p><p>Bucky takes a bite, and the taste is sweet enough to bring tears to his eyes.  It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.</p><p>Steve reaches out, brushing Bucky’s hair back from his face.  His smile is practically glowing.  “Hey, Bucky?”</p><p>“Yeah, Steve?”</p><p>“I win.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I always thought Johann Fennhoff and his abilities were absolutely chilling, and was always bummed that he just seemed to instantly hypnotize people due to TV show time restraints.  So I decided to write a fic exploring the potential creepy factor in depth.</p><p>Also, the other day I got into one of those YouTube rabbit holes that have become exponentially more frequent due to quarantine, and I happened across <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0nwsCT1jkE">this hypnosis video</a> which heavily inspired the dialogue of this fic.  And then I didn't figure out until halfway through writing the story that this is in fact a kink video, so whoops.  Made a hypno kink story.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>